Living in Color
by JennaBennett
Summary: Michael feels very blessed a little earlier than Season 4 and Meredith is spared from being hit by his car. Instead, he hits someone else – because he's Michael and occasionally he'll hit someone with his car. So sue him? Set Season 3.
1. Chapter 1

_"__One day Michael came in and complained about a speed bump on the highway. I wonder who he ran over then."_

Jim has to remind himself that he is evolved-Jim now. He's trying to stick with some of the choices he made in Stamford, like the beautiful brunette who actually _wants_ to date him and isn't engaged… _Nope_, he doesn't like to go there. Evolved-Jim makes it a habit not to think about the curly-haired receptionist with the barest fading tan line on her ring finger. Admittedly, evolved-Jim has been having some trouble sticking to his strict no thinking policy. He feels as if the one part of his evolution (there are exaggerated finger quotations in his mind every time he pictures the word, because he thinks he's gone more backwards than forwards in the past six months, but that's another tangent) that he has any semblance of control over is his commitment to cycle to work – every now and then.

As it turns out, today is _then_. It's not fun. Mostly, it's sweaty and miserable and he hates it. But hey, it's probably good for him and he feels like he has the slightest bit of order in his life which is a nice change from the rest of it all. He pumps his legs and rounds the corner into the office carpark, rubbing the beads of sweat from his brow with the arm of his dress shirt. The one upside to steadfastly refusing to roll up his sleeves – another thing, he begrudgingly tells himself that he has complete power over.

He registers the crunch of tires on gravel a moment too late. Gone is the steady flow of sunshine into the lot. All he sees are stars shooting across a pitch black sky. He leans into it. It seems easier than evolved-Jim fighting him for every once of internal control. He gives all his power over to the darkness and a stillness replaces his thoughts.

Pam's had to grieve for many a thing this year: the end of the era that was her relationship with Roy, her friendship with Jim, and then the possibility of friendship and maybe so much more slipping away upon Jim's return from Stamford.

It shouldn't surprise her that all this grief has impacted upon her art, and it _really_ has. She only sees in greys and soft pastels now. Not that she was ever one for hugely vivid bright colors to begin with, but the occasional splash of something bold and beautiful tended to make its way in there – _no more_. Sometimes she tries to convince herself that it's the loss of the life she knew with Roy that's dulled the colors, but it's no use, because she knows that even in the days with Roy it was Jim who added this brightness to her life.

Nonetheless, in those moments where Karen's hand rubs Jim's back in the parking lot and he accepts gum from her in a conference room meeting, Pam works a little harder to tell herself that Roy added some of the brilliance that once was.

When she consider the office in her minds eye now, she mostly sees in shades of beige.

That's all the color she sees in this slow morning moment – bland _browness_ spread out before her – as she dutifully refills the jellybeans on the counter at her desk. It's symbolic now, considering that the person she fills it for is the least likely to slip over to her desk and indulge in her sweets. She's on her feet as the door swings over, eyes flicking up automatically to catch a glimpse of Michael stepping into the office. He pauses at her desk. She attempts a smile, but he refuses to meet her eyes. It's unusual for Michael to greet her with such solemnity. He turns his back to her and taps loudly on the counter, clearing his throat with a scratchy sigh. "Ladies and gentlemen," he starts as the eyes in the room gradually swing towards him. "I have some bad news. Jim was hit by a car."

Pam knees give way. She sinks into her seat. _Not Jim!_ her mind screeches.

"Where?" Oscar demands. Pam can't convince her mouth to form words. She's a little afraid that if she opens it, all that will seep out is a wail. The little color remaining in the world ceases to exist as Pam knows it.

"It happened this morning in the parking lot. I took him to the hospital and the doctors tried to save his . . life . . they did the best they could. . ."

Pam chokes back the bile rising in her throat. Gone are the soft pastels. Gone is the grey. All that remains is black and empty and threatens to swallow her whole and she _wants_ it to.

"And he is going to be okay." Michael grins and throws his hands up in the air in relief.

Pam needs to vomit.

"What is wrong with you? Why did you have to phrase it like that?" Stanley mutters with the steady shake of his head.

She still needs to vomit. She tries to pull air into her lungs.

"Did you see who did it?" Andy asks, rolling his chair away from his desk and towards Michael.

This plunges Dwight to action, who immediately responds, "no need. We can just check the security tapes."

Michael pales. "Gah. Kind of good news, bad news there. I was able to be on the scene so quickly because I was in the car that hit him."

"Who was driving?" Dwight demands. "Oh Michael," he adds as he registers Michael's slightly apologetic expression.

Pam decides that if Jim is actually okay that she is going to kill Michael.

Fury begins to swell, but falls flat. Anger is red, and she's done denying that Jim adds the color in her life. She feels like she's living in an old black and white film, and not in the fun, romantic way – everything filtered through a colorless lens echoing the emptiness she feels.

Pam knows it's not really her place anymore, but she doesn't care. Karen is probably mimicking her actions, but she doesn't register it. She tests her legs and finds that she can stand on them despite that fact her entire being is trembling and her world has gone black. Her keys are in her hand and she's drifting towards the hospital, the thread that always been binding her to Jim is tugging her forwards and she's given up fighting it once and for all. She lets it pull her forwards, taking the stairs because she can't bare to stand still in the elevator.

She drives her car on autopilot. There's an irony there – that she is paying no care to how she drives her car when Jim has just been hit by one. It strikes her that this may be _it_, the thing she never actually forgives Michael for. She may have finally found her limit. She will _end_ Michael over this if it comes to it. She thinks back to his announcement, moments before and the knot tightens in her stomach. She needs to get to Jim.

She's pulling into the hospital carpark before she really has time to plot Michael's bloody and violent demise. She's fairly certain that this train of thought is the only thing keeping her from actively breaking down and sobbing hysterically. She lets it drive her. Pam feels the bile steadily rising in her throat for what feels like the tenth time this morning as she switches her engine off.

She's been rushing towards him, but feels her momentum slow. She's utterly _terrified_ of what she may find. She knows this is it, that the darkness will eclipse her and the color will continue to seep out of her world never to return if Jim _is_... something less… Her brain is screaming freeze, but her legs – bless them – are in fight mode and continue propelling her forward. The thread tying her to Jim pulses and pulls her closer as she continues to near him.

She reaches the nurses station, and, "Jim Halpert," falls from her lips as she cringes. The sound of her voice is raw and grating and she can hear the emptiness echoing from her. The nurse takes pity on her, and her response is kind, calm and measured. She gently points Pam in the right direction. Pam tries to thank her, but finds she can't get the words out. Her entire world has pinpointed down to laying her eyes on Jim. She just needs to _know_.

Michael had said he was okay. She knew Michael better than just about anybody. She knew that Michael's affirmation was meaningless. He would lie to paint himself into a better picture. Of that she was sure. There was no knowing until she actually _knew_.

She wills herself into his room, with a mantra of _it's better knowing_ throbbing through her mind. She releases a raw sob as she sees him. She lets the frame of the door take her weight, unable to keep her shaking legs from giving out on her completely. _He's conscious_. She's never felt palpable relief flood through her like this before. The thread joining them swells and fills her heart with an aching, tangible joy.

A doctor stands in the room, with his back to her. Pam's sob swings Jim's gaze to her face, albeit a little slower than usual. She can see the dull flash of pain float through his eyes that is quickly replaced with that intangible Jim-ness. Jim beams at her and her heart thuds loudly in her chest. He hasn't looked at her like that since before Stamford. _Jim_ is back. The flood of color, bold and vibrant that pulses through her is enough to restart her battered, blackened heart.

He stretches a hand towards her and she gladly complies, drifting forwards, her own hand outstretched in return. "Pam," he croaks, as if seeing her for the first time in months, which as she thinks about it may just be the first time he's _really_ looked her in the eyes in a long time.

The doctor clears his throat. "Jim. Just a few more questions. You told me your birthday, next – "

Jim cuts him off. "Do I get bonus points if I tell you her birthday too. It's the 25th of March, 1979." Pam releases a squeak of a giggle and feels dizzy with relief, acknowledging his answer with the squeeze of his hand that by some miracle is still clasping hers.

The doctor is less than amused by Jim's comprehensive Pam knowledge. "What is the date today?" he grunts. Jim's brow furrows in response. He glances at Pam for reassurance. She shrugs, a gentle reminder that the answer falls solely on him.

"Umm," he quirks his lips in that patented Jim way. He closes his eyes for a moment, searching his bruised and battered mind for a response. "January 3rd?" he guesses.

Pam catches the doctor's gaze as he eyes Jim shrewdly. She feels the steady calm she'd found since laying eyes on Jim begin to strip away. It's not right. It's not even close to right considering it's _December_. The color throbs at the edge of her awareness. "2006?" he adds weakly, flicking his eyes worriedly from Pam to the doctor. She tries to convey reassurances from behind her troubled stare, but she can't keep the fear out.

Of course, in the last two minutes she's forgotten something very crucial to this whole thing. All she's registered is her pull towards Jim. Somewhere it's slipped out of her mind entirely that Karen _exists_. The reminder as Karen steps into the room is jarring. She tries to pull her hand back from Jim and maintain normal used-to-be-best-friends decorum.

She is met with a puzzled look and he grips her hand tighter in response, refusing to relinquish it. As she gently tugs her hand back, Jim's fingers catch on the fourth knuckle of her left hand where he expects to find purchase – she can tell the moment it floods his awareness, that the ring that has been the silent partner dictating the terms of their friendship for years is gone.

His fingers fumble and he lets go of her hand completely, his eyes searching hers for answers as his jaw drops into a silent oh.

She nods gently, feeling her eyes well with tears – it's been a damn long year. She is met with unparalleled joy, she can see the moment he tries to taper it down and hide it under his usual careful mask, but the light lingers in the corner of his eyes.

Karen misses this wordless exchange. Pam can feel her stare burning into the point where their hands had been clasped until moments before. Karen must shake off her annoyance, because she carries forward, rounding the doctor to stand at Jim's other side, with a carefully furrowed brow of concern that Pam feels she's painted on to cover up her annoyance at finding Jim so amiable with Pam. Karen presses her lips to Jim's forehead and his eyes bug. His gaze swings from Karen to Pam, absolute confusion the reigning emotion.

He clears his throat, and with an attempted tone of detached indifference that Pam can read like a book, casually asks, "Uh, Doc? What's the date today?"


	2. Chapter 2

_"You spend your whole life trying to get people to like you and then you run over one person with your car..."_

Jim hasn't figured out all the details yet, but he is seriously impressed. Somehow, Pam has managed to pull off the greatest prank of all time. She's done it. She's bested him. He's not even mad, in fact he's extremely impressed. He is filled with grudging respect. He always knew she was capable, but this is beyond anything he's ever imagined. It's incredible. _She's_ incredible.

His one note. The one teensy, little thing he would change. Shouldn't it be Dwight in this hospital bed?

He certainly enjoys it all a lot more when they're in it together, secret smiles and sparkling eyes as Dwight's frustrations rise. That's the usual formula for success. This has certainly broken the mould.

He's not sure what her missing engagement ring has to do with it either – other than to build his hope up to unfathomable levels that threaten to spill over and shout _I'm in love with you_ at every moment. It's a bit of a weird choice, but he figures it's got to be deliberate and will factor into this whole shenanigan somewhere.

He eyes the girl she's roped in to this. Is this Isabel? She's about the only friend that Pam mentions fondly from time to time. She's giving off a more businesslike vibe than Jim imagined when Pam shared her Isabel stories. She's pretty, in that obvious way where everyone takes notice. She's not really Jim's type. No one is anymore.

Well, that's wrong. Only _one_ person is. No one else measures up. Technically, he's kind of still seeing Katy, but that's a super casual, non-committal type of thing – which is the exact opposite of the kind of guy he is, but he can't exactly _have_ his type. Not when his type is engaged to some oaf from the warehouse who has _no_ idea how lucky he is.

Jim's still a little confused as to some of the particulars. The ache of his head adds a far too genuine feel to this whole got-hit-by-a-car story. Surely, he's just been slipped some sort of sleeping pill type of thing that's left him a little disoriented. A drug induced hangover of sorts. He wonders if the doctor is a real doctor. He's not typically attractive enough for those to be, uh, pull-away scrubs?

It seems like he really is in a hospital. He wonders who Pam knows to have gotten her the hook-up for this. Surely, it can't be easy to just appropriate an entire hospital room. The more he thinks, the more impressed he continues to become. Damn, she has really pulled this whole thing off.

He wants to hold her hand again. He's not sure what's going on with that ring business, but she certainly wasn't flinching away from him and he wants to take a hold of the moment with both hands – literally.

"Pam," he whispers, letting a little of dull throb pulsing around his brain seep into his tone for sympathies sake. He reaches out his hand, trying to ignore how pathetic he feels begging for her touch. She relents immediately, but he doesn't miss the slight apologetic looks that flits over to the maybe-Isabel character.

He focuses everything on memorising the warmth of her hand in his – he could get used to this. Hope flares again, at the missing ring, and he hopes that by some crazy twist of fate, maybe, just _maybe_, he might be able to…

Pam's certain of two things as Jim shoots her the most endearing puppy-dog look of all time before slipping his fingers into hers once again. First of all, in this moment, Jim has absolutely no idea who Karen is.

She feels like a horrible person, because she can't quite tamper down the unfettered joy this realisation brings her. It's quickly followed by acidic guilt, what if he's really, truly happy with Karen and she's messing that up for them? She doesn't linger on the thought. She knows _Jim_, and the return-from-Stamford version of Jim has not been happy. He's been on some sort of weird autopilot, which she gets better than just about anyone because that's been her life with Roy for at least the past couple of years.

The other certainty is that Karen has not yet noticed that Jim does not recognise her. If Pam had to guess, she thinks that Karen assumes that hurt Jim is reaching out to an old, familiar friend as some sort of default coping mechanism. She thinks Karen was seething too much over the friendly handholding that she missed the look of utter confusion that passed over Jim's face after she brushed her lips over his brow.

Pam's stomach clenches. She wishes she could just breeze into a hospital room and press her lips to Jim. With the way things have been lately, she's not sure whether that move would be welcomed or despised. Of course, with this friendly, forgetful Jim, she's sure she could get away with it. Although, Karen would probably slap her, which would be… reasonable… given the circumstances.

Thinking of the circumstances douses her mind in cold, clarifying water, she's sitting here quietly thrilled at the thought of a chunk of Jim's memory disappearing. She's a terrible person. She needs to focus on making sure he's okay.

The doctor – and apparently Jim, and maybe also Karen – is oblivious to the layers of tension crackling, hissing and popping throughout the room. "Jim, it's the 10th of December," the doctor replies seriously.

"Oh," Jim nods, but doesn't appear to be too distressed by the fact that he's lost a good chunk of the year. Pam finds her lips curving downwards. She's seeing in color again, but it's a mess of movement and flashes and nothing sticks in the frame for long.

She's _so _worried about him and what this all means, but apparently he's approaching this in a carefree nonchalant way that makes her want to worry enough for the both of them.

Karen seems to have noticed that this date thing is a bit of a sticking point. "What date did you think it was?" she demands.

He waves her off with an, "oh, I was a little bit off. It's no big deal." Karen is placated by that, but Pam catches the doctors gaze and demands answers.

The doctor shrugs at her. "I'm not too worried at this point in time. Jim's lucid. I'll schedule an MRI as a precaution. My bigger concern at present is the cracked pelvis, which will need to be set in a cast. I'll send someone in shortly to attend to that. The painkillers we've given him should sufficiently dull the pain for now."

"Will the memories return?" she entreats gently – she can't decide which answer will bring her more pain.

If Jim thinks it's January 3rd, he's forgotten the booze cruise and the disaster that was setting a date. He's forgotten their kiss on casino night. He's forgotten the moment she trampled his heart and her own in the process. He's forgotten running away to Stamford and leaving her to lick her wounds in insolation.

He's forgotten moving back, and seeing someone else, and eyeing her coldly at every available moment. He's forgotten the way she clung to him as he walked back in the door, _I'm new here_, echoing through the room. He's forgotten that she kissed him back and memorised the conflicting emotions raging across his face. He's forgotten that she called off her wedding - _for him_ her mind whispers.

He's forgotten that he's changed the path of her life as she once thought it would be. This year has been the most painful of her existence coupled with the most beautiful. She's grown, she's been stretched in ways she didn't think were possible. She doesn't want to him to forget.

But. But. _But_. She is beyond terrified that Jim remembering means rejection. _Again_. He'll remember that he's with beautiful, sophisticated and driven Karen. Pam Beesly will dull in comparison. _Again_. She tries to steel herself in anticipation.

"Save any other complications, it's more likely a case of when than if. However, like I said, I'd appreciate an MRI to be sure," the doctor doesn't know that he's effectively signing the death warrant of any hope Pam has. _When_. The colors dull around the edges. Jim's memory will return and he'll know that he wants Karen and that Pam is a bland mess. Her world will return to greys.

Is it sad that she wants to make the most of this injured and vulnerable version of Jim while she has him?

She tries to focus on Jim and the here and now. Not the impending sense of doom. In the here and the now, he certainly seems glad that she's around. He's still gently clasping her hand in his, rhythmically tracing nonsensical shapes with his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

Pam's gaze drops to their intertwined hands. She smiles softly and attempts to convince herself that it won't sting too much when Jim withdraws. She knows that she probably isn't being too fair to Karen right not, but she doesn't really care, besides she's sure that Karen will have him back soon enough.

The doctor slips from the room with a final grunt of acknowledgement. Pam nods her thanks politely at him as he retreats.

Karen looks at their joined hands. Pam can see the cogs turning over in her head as the penny drops. "Jim," she demands gently. "What did you think the date is?"

He shrugs, giving her that goofy half-smile that usually gets him off the hook for many a thing. Karen turns her gaze on Pam pleadingly. "January," she mouths softly.

Karen's face freezes and drops. "We didn't meet until June," drops from her lips as she deflates.

"He'll remember soon," Pam replies gently as her heart splits in two. She bites back the tears threatening to spill over. She wants to hate Karen, but it's just so hard sometimes.

Jim meanwhile, glances between the two of them, with much more indifference. His brow pinches and furrows at the genuine emotion painting Pam's face. She must see his concern, because she quickly schools herself and smiles softly at him.

Karen watches the interaction with a slight frown. "I'm going to go find some coffee. Do you want one?" it's a little forced, but it's a nice gesture nonetheless.

"Tea please," Pam knows how to accept an olive branch when she's offered one. Karen nods and slips from the room.

It's the first time she's been alone with Jim since Michael slunk into the office and sent her world crashing to pieces around her. She's overwhelmed with the desire to touch him. She allows herself a moment. Her free hand rises to brush a tuft of his gorgeous unruly hair back from his forehead. She feathers her fingers along his temple as he releases a contented sigh.

"What happened?" Jim asks and he's kind of grinning at her a lot for someone who has just been hit by a car. It's a little off-putting. He really doesn't appear to be taking it all very seriously, but it wouldn't surprise her if this undercurrent of humor was his coping mechanism.

"You won't believe it," she mutters dryly. He chuckles, the sound brimming with an unspoken _try me_. "Michael hit you with his car," she grits out. "I'm going to kill him," she adds after a moment, more to herself.

"Okay," Jim chirps. She eyes him shrewdly. He's taking this far too lightly. He gives her that lopsided grin that never fails to set her pulse racing. It's amazing the things she notices now – ever since she's stopped hiding from her feelings behind Roy.

Karen reappears in the doorway and this prompts Jim to ask the question that's been burning in the back of his mind since she showed up earlier. He wants to meet Pam's friends. He's kind of impressed with her acting, well, both their acting to be honest.

"Is that Isabel?" Jim murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear. His warm breath, a gentle puff against the side of her neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. She tamps down a shiver at the sensation. His words, however, turn her to stone.

Her jaw drops open and she eyes him carefully. "What?"

He punctuates his words carefully, a gleam in his eye like he's got it all figured out. "Is that your friend Isabel? Did you enlist her to help you pull off all this?" he gestures around the room with flourish – slightly muted flourish, because you know, injured.

"You think this a _prank_?" she gapes. He shoots her an exaggerated wink. "Oh, Jim," she breathes, her eyes suddenly very serious. There's no hint of teasing, no glimmer of _you got me_. She's looking at him with such concern and for the first time since he _figured_ it all out, he feels the idea slipping away from him.

"Are you telling me Michael _really hit me with his car_?"


	3. Chapter 3

_"__Guess what? I have flaws. What are they? Oh, I don't know. I sing in the shower. Sometimes I spend too much time volunteering. Occasionally I'll hit someone with my car. So sue me."_

Real. It's real. Michael _really_ hit him with his car. "Michael," he mutters, shaking his head violently from side and side and feeling the throb increase to a persistent pound. The pain was a pretty good confirmation actually.

Pam was staring at him in what could only be described as abject horror. "A prank?" she whispered, confusion clouding her tone.

Jim felt the blood drain from his face as this new reality – actual reality – set in.

He was genuinely missing a good ten, eleven months of the year. What the hell had happened? It took just about all his willpower, but he swung his gaze away from Pam for a solid second to gape at Karen. "You're my girlfriend?" he choked out, hollowly. He received an enthusiastic nod and a cautious smile in return.

He couldn't help himself and his gaze shifted back to Pam. "What about, uh," he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, "Katy?" The name came out as a hoarse whisper. Pam winced ever so slightly.

"I'm not completely sure," she supplied. "I think you broke up with her just after the booze cruise."

"The booze cruise?"

Pam mentally slapped herself. Of course he had no idea. "It's umm. Oh, you know the leadership, teambuilder-y event Michael," his name was a curse falling from her lips, "gave us the list for."

Jim clicked his fingers. "Yes! Wait, so we're not robbing a bank?"

"And escaping through the sewer?" Pam grinned. "No," she added with the sad shake of her head. "We went on a booze cruise."

"In January?" Jim laughed.

"Michael – " they intoned in unison and shared a smile. Pam felt it stretch from ear to ear. She'd missed this the most, the easy comradery she shared with Jim before it all, this whole year had crumbled around them.

"Katy?" Karen interjected, her voice humourless and restrained.

"It wasn't serious," Jim confirmed. "I – " he broke off. There was no good way to say that he was hopelessly and completely in love with Pam and all his relationships were therefore doomed. His current girlfriend, who he had to assume was also super casual, didn't need to know that… How soon was too soon after meeting the girl you were supposedly dating to dump her?

To be honest, he wasn't all that concerned about the Katy issue. All he truly wanted to know was where the hell Pam's engagement ring had gone? He wanted to know where they stood. She was here at his hospital bed, that had to bode well, right?

He glanced at her ringless hand, noticed that the faint indent had almost completely faded and opened his mouth, still struggling to find the words that would come out and ask the question that was burning on his tongue… He was interrupted, by the arrival of a team of nurses intent on pushing his bed to a MRI machine.

He shot Pam one last meaningful look as he untethered his hand from hers. He felt the loss instantly as her fingers slipped from his. He shot Karen what he hoped was a sort of an apologetic, sorry-I-have-no-idea-who-you-are farewell as his bed slid from the room.

Then there were two, Pam thought as Jim drifted away. It was kind of symbolic that him, and his bed had been between them. All that remained was empty space.

Karen crossed the threshold and handed Pam the tea that she had sourced for her. She tugged the other chair over to her side of the room and settled into it, releasing a pointed sigh. As she straightened back up, her eyes locked purposefully with Pam's.

Pam try to bite back the gulp that tended to lodge in her throat every time she interacted with Karen. Karen hadn't actually done anything to her – she likely didn't _know_ that she was dating the love of Pam's life. That was Pam's problem, not Karen's.

"I don't get it," Karen stated quietly. "You and Jim are colleagues, you exchange pleasantries at the office. That's about it. But January Jim seems pretty cosy with you?"

Pam outwardly cringed. Jim had clearly downplayed their _history_ – was that the right word? – with Karen. It stung to have what they were, or at least_ had been_, reduced to Karen's cold assessment, accurate as it may be. "Umm," she started, digging deep for fancy new Beesly to bring her some confidence.

"It's kind of complicated," she added weakly. "Jim was my best friend before he left for Stamford," she finally released on a breath.

"Best friend?" Karen snorted, a little derisively. "What does that even mean? January Jim is clearly into you?"

Pam flinched as if she'd been openly slapped. She felt the tears creeping their way into falling. She swallowed roughly. "Have you met Roy, from the warehouse?"

Karen nodded. "Sure. The solid guy with a bit of a beard?"

"Yeah," Pam paused, sucking in a steady breath. She didn't owe Karen her story… or maybe she did? "Up until May we were engaged."

Karen leaned in. "For nine years actually," Pam added softly. "And we were, _I was_, I don't know… content?"

"But you weren't happy?" Karen supplied.

"For the most part, I was," Pam shrugged. "Or, at least I thought I was…" She paused, Roy was her story, but Jim, Jim was _Jim's_ story and he clearly hadn't told Karen.

She really wasn't sure if this was her place, or how much she should reveal. The devils advocate sitting over her shoulder continued to niggle. What if Jim was happy? What if she was interfering? What if Jim's memory returned and he hated her all the more for telling his girlfriend every detail of their convoluted history? She wasn't sure how it could get worse from here; he barely acknowledged her as it stood…

"What changed?" Karen was oblivious to the internal debate raging through Pam's mind.

Pam felt the color rising in her cheeks as she searched for the best way to phrase her response. "There were a lot of reasons to call off my wedding," she started carefully, "but, I didn't think about any of them until I met – " Pam hesitated, willing the word to slip from her tongue. Honesty was not one of her strengths she reflected dryly.

"Jim," Karen finished with a heavy sigh.

"Yes. Jim," his name – finally acknowledging it aloud to someone – was _everything_. She somehow felt both lighter than she had in months at the sheer truth of it all as well as incredibly guilty that Karen was the person she was having this conversation with. The warring emotions were too much for her to handle – she felt the tears that she had been fighting back all morning tracking noiselessly down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she choked, dropping her head to her hands.

"I," Karen started. "I didn't know."

Pam shook her head, attempting to convey, that she didn't think Karen had so much as a clue.

"Why did Jim leave Scranton?"

The follow up question increased the shaking of Pam's shoulders tenfold. The events of casino night played in her mind, reminding her once again of all her failings over the past year. She heard the lies spill from her lips and watched the agony play out in Jim's eyes. She felt his lips on hers and his hands gently tethering her to him.

Somehow, in spite of _it all_, as the memories replayed as they did all too often since Jim disappeared to Stamford, this time there was a sheen to them – they were a little less dull around the edges, as if the contrast had been increased. Underneath everything, this conversation with Karen included, there was something new, a tiny flicker of possibility. Jim, with a head injury had forgotten his whole damn girlfriend, he'd forgotten a huge chapter of his life._ But_, he hadn't forgotten _her_.

No matter how surly he acted these days, somewhere deep down, the thread that tied them together remained. That was the silver lining she was hell bent on taking away from this.

That thought steeled something in her spine and she straightened to look Karen in the eye as she formulated her response. She wiped her cheeks on the corner of her sleeve and cleared her throat. "Because of June 10th."

Of course, Karen had no idea what she was talking about and continued to meet her gaze, waiting for a more coherent reply. "Roy finally set a date," Pam sighed. "After years and years of being engaged, it was actually going to happen."

"Did you and Jim have an affair?" Karen asked pointedly.

Pam shook her head furiously and was struck with the sudden realisation that maybe Karen didn't know Jim very well at all. Jim would _never_. He was one of the good guys, the very best guy. How did Karen not know that?

"There were feelings," she hedged weakly. "And I told Jim I couldn't, that I was going to marry Roy… and then Jim left," and Pam's world turned from day to night which she conveniently edited from the explanation.

"You didn't marry Roy." Karen stated.

"There were a lot of reasons," Pam tacked on firmly.

"You don't regret it."Pam knew she was referring to Roy. Inside though, she screamed_ yes_. That she regretted how casino night had gone down. She regretted taking too long to unjumble her feelings. She regretted not reaching out to Jim in the weeks that followed.

"Not at all."

Karen swallowed the last of her coffee before placing her cup on the floor beside her feet. She rubbed her temples, closing her eyes momentarily. "What the hell, Halpert," she murmured.

"I've been asking myself that question for the past six months," Pam intoned wryly. Karen snorted.

"He's going to remember," Karen's tone shifted to serious.

"I know." The reality did nothing to ease the ache in every beat of Pam's heart.

"And then what?"

"Things return to normal… I'm the receptionist who passes him a message every now and then," _and whose eyes he steadfastly refuses to meet_ she thought. _I go back to sobbing in my car after every strained interaction. I wear a hole into the back of his neck because I can't keep my eyes off him_. Normal casual colleague stuff.

Karen considered this. "Yeah," she affirmed softly. "Back to normal."

They slipped into silence. Pam could feel another round of tears lingering just below the surface at the thought of things getting back to the way they had been recently. She was exhausted, in that soul weary way that made each and every day just a little more difficult to face.

She didn't want to return to a world where Jim pretended not to know her the way he did. A version of the office where he treated her as a casual acquaintance – or less. No different from Angela or Meredith (except he didn't drop his head ever so slightly to avoid eye contact with them she reminded herself angrily).

No, she didn't dislike Karen. But there was no universe where they both got what they wished for. Pam felt pathetic. Here she was enthusing over Jim's head injury because he acted happy to see her for the first time in months. She didn't deserve Jim. That said, she wasn't leaving his side until he came to his senses and asked her to.

Karen evidently didn't feel the same way. She rose. "I'm going to get out of here for a bit. Call me if anything changes." She pulled a crisp business card from her purse and pressed it to Pam's palm. She paused in the doorway. "Thanks… I think. For filling the blanks."

Pam nodded mutely in response, unable to find words in time.

Karen's departure gave her the opportunity she needed to lay her head in her hands and continue crying. This was how Jim found her not a minute later.

He was joking with the orderly as they slotted his bed back into place. The second his eyes landed on her, his tone lost all humor. "Pam," he demanded. "What's wrong?" he became increasingly frantic with each word. "Are you okay?" he pleaded.

Her dampened sleeves once again bore the brunt of the moisture. She pulled her head high, and murmured, "I'm supposed to be asking you that, you dork."

The grin she received in response warmed her from the inside out.

"Where'd not-Isabel go?" he asked, after a few moments.

"I think she prefers you better with your memory intact," Pam shrugged. "Something about you actually knowing her name…"

Another sunshine on a rainy day grin met her as she rolled her eyes teasingly.

"I'm just glad you're here," Jim replied solemnly. "Samantha."

She crossed her arms in mock outrage. He huffed a breath and stage whispered her actual name. She smiled that soft half-smile, where her eyes sparkled, but her lips only gently twisted upwards. Pam reached forward, taking tangling her fingers with his once again. He shifted slightly so he could tighten his grip.

"Pam?" her name was a question on his lips.

"Yes?"

He stared at her piercingly for a moment, before dropping his gaze to their hands. "Where's your engagement ring?"


	4. Chapter 4

_"__I love my employees. Even though, I hit one of you with my car- for which I take whole responsibility."_

Pam worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "Jim," she entreated gently.

"Pam," he echoed.

She stared at their clasped hands, her gaze pensive. "I'm really worried that once I tell you this, you won't like me much anymore."

His brow furrows. His stomach drops. _Pam is here. Pam is here. Pam is here, _his mind chants. _It can't be that bad_. His filter has also apparently been lost in the accident. "I could never not like you," falls from his lips without his conscious permission to do so.

He feels the blush shadowing his neck and averts his gaze to join hers at their hands.

She releases the faintest hint of humourless laugh. "Trust me, it hasn't felt a lot like that lately." He frowns at her. "It's been a long year, Jim. The longest. I've really missed you." She runs a hand over her forehead and some of the mask drops, he glimpses a weariness in the depths of her troubled expression that he's never seen before – or, remembered seeing.

"Did Roy die?" he blurts out and slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes becoming saucers, because what if he actually had and Jim was the most insensitive friend on the planet? At least that would kind of explain why he had some casual girlfriend and hadn't actually made a move on a not-engaged Pam.

A slightly mortified chuckle fell from Pam's lips. "Oh no. He's still alive and kicking, but I could see how you think him dying would be the only way I'd build up the courage to admit it wasn't quite working out."

Jim's expression was instantly serious. "It's hard to admit when things aren't working out, Pam." She waved him off.

"It didn't matter. All that mattered was you."

Jim felt the seeds of hope blossom and sprout like they never had before.

Pam felt the entire axis of the earth rested on this conversation. It was a lot a pressure to place on her jumbled thoughts. She'd already confessed to Jim's girlfriend the depth of her connection to Jim and yet it was somehow so much more difficult to discuss it with the man himself.

Telling him now was one thing. She could handle that. The crux of it was that he would remember Karen soon enough and this whole moment would be erased once again. She'd have to go to the passive aggressive office of sorrow and pretend this whole thing never happened. He might be able to brush it aside _again _like he had so successfully in Stamford, but she'd be stuck with the muscle memory of his hand warming hers and the look of delight in his eyes as she entered the room.

She was already having enough trouble living with the weight of casino night pressing on her shoulders. Oh god. She was going to have consider leaving the office if she had to live with this moment crushing her too.

But maybe. Just maybe, a cautious optimism warned... if she could get across her side of things to him now, even if he remembered everything, he could forgive her just a little bit. Maybe they could be friends again? She tried not to cling to the flicker, if she held onto it and it was wrong, it would ache all the more.

"Me?" Jim whispered, failing to mask the awe coating the word. "Me," he repeated, as if he was trying to convince himself that she'd really said it.

"Yes. You, Jim."

She'd dropped her purse and keys over near the doorway back when her knees were shaking so badly with relief that she could barely stand. "I'll show you," she murmured, squeezing his hand gently before rising to her feet and tugging her purse from the floor.

He watched silently as she pulled a worn sketchbook from the depths of her bag. "Back in May," she started, her voice a little softer than usual. "Michael staged a casino night in the warehouse. It was this whole black tie thing."

"I bet I took you for all your money," Jim smiled and she was hit with a pang of what used to be.

"You wish."

She took a deep steadying breath. "Here," she thrust the sketchbook towards him. "I couldn't stop drawing it," she shrugged, "especially when you were gone."

"Gone?"

"You moved – transferred to the Stamford branch. When I came into work on Monday, your desk was already empty."

Jim palmed the book in his hands hesitantly. "I didn't work for a week," she whispered. "I just drew it, over and over again."

She leant towards him and thumbed the book open. The image was brilliant, with vivid blues and purples. "That was before I knew you had left." It was a brightly colored sketch of the both of them. Pam's hands were clasping his neck and he was wrapped around her. His eyes shone, bravery and victory radiating from them.

"It's the second after we kissed," she murmured. Jim sucked in a sharp intake of breath.

"I want to remember," he stuttered.

"That was my favorite moment. Everything still felt so, _possible_. Before reality crept back in."

"Roy?" he choked.

"Yeah. You asked me if I was still going to marry him and I'm so sorry Jim because I lied, I said yes, when really the answer was already no, but I didn't know how to make that happen and I didn't know what to say and then you were gone." She felt the tears retracing a familiar path down her face.

She reached for the book and began to flip through the pages. "I drew it so many ways. I tried to fix it, I – " Jim stilled her hand. He flicked back to the first page, taking in the vibrant colors again, his finger tips brushing over the shape of her dress. He turned to the second page, and the third and the fourth and the next. Gone was the color, after the first image, each following picture was black and harsh. Her strokes were less careful, but more intentional. He could see where she'd gone over the same line multiple times, almost breaking through the paper.

There was a theme running through it all. Each picture was of them. The setting changed, some were at his desk, others in the office carpark. Some were snippets: his eyes, his hands, his retreating back. "I tried to fix it," she repeated, as he paused on a picture of her leaning in to kiss him in the carpark, instead of the office.

"This didn't happen?" he murmured, running his hand over the page. She shook her head. "Please Pam. Please tell me everything. I don't understand why I would've left like that. I don't understand why – " he traced her blackened lips on the page.

She understood the question he wasn't asking. He didn't know why he had laid his feelings on the line, when he had been sitting with them for so long without making a stand.

"I was going to marry Roy," she started.

"You were always going to marry Roy," he muttered, eyes flashing with anger. He always had trouble masking his frustrations when it came to Roy.

She shook her head. "We set a date."

"Oh," Jim closed his eyes momentarily. It was strange to think that even in a world where it hadn't happened, it still stung.

"Yeah."

"I guess that pushed me over the edge," he grimaced.

Pam reached for the sketchbook, turning it back to the first image, the one rich with possibility and tried to tell herself that possibility remained and was in her reach once again. "You told me that you were in love with me," each word stuck in her throat as she fought to push it out. Jim swallowed roughly.

"I, umm," she cringed, "lied, or at least wouldn't let myself consider it. I stuck to the script. I said we were friends."

"And I didn't want that? I said I wanted more than that?" She nodded – and Jim hung his head a little at how predictable he was. It was eerie to have him repeat in now, without the memory, and still the words almost mirroing his earlier admission.

"You, uh, walked away."

"I'm an idiot."

"You were brave. Braver than I could ever be... I went upstairs. I sat at your desk. I tried to imagine a different life."

Jim opened to the next sketch. "I came back?"

"You did," the small smile that wanted to form couldn't quite make it out under the weight of the conflicting emotions from the memory.

"I kissed you?" he breathed, a little in awe that he'd found the confidence. He was sure that this would be the memory he would regret losing the most.

"I kissed you too," Pam's tone grew a fierceness and certainty that made his heart skip a beat. "I said the most honest thing I said all night. You said that I had no idea how long you'd been waiting to do that and I said _me too_."

"You too?" Jim's eyes widened.

"Yes," she stated definitively.

Jim schooled his expression, "but then you said you were still going to marry _him_?"

She nodded. "And you believed me."

"You didn't," an acknowledgment.

"You were gone," an accusation.

Silence filled the room.

All her earlier fears assaulted her. Even a recount of how terribly she'd treated him that night was enough to drive him away. He didn't need to remember it, he could piece it together well enough from what she described and once again it was unforgivable. She'd been given a second shot and she'd blown it.

On the other hand, she was mad. Mad at him for leaving in the first place. Mad at him now for not understanding everything that she wasn't saying and everything she was. She'd left Roy for him. She wanted _him_.

Mostly she was mad that he hadn't given her time to process. If he knew her as well as he thought he did – which she thought he did – he should have known that she would need more than an ultimatum in the parking lot. She wasn't a jumper; she was a dip your toes in the water and gradually inch in. This was a fundamental part of her being which he had conveniently forgotten about when it mattered most.

"Pam?"

She met his gaze. He was still moving through the sketchbook, hands caressing each image as he went - whether he was committing it to memory or trying to prompt what was lost she wasn't sure. "I'm sorry?" he gave her the tiniest makings of a crooked smile. "For hurting you, I guess. I, I would never want to hurt you."

"I just wish you hadn't had left so quickly. Things would have been different, Jim," she answered in small voice.

"What are things like now? Why did I come back?"

"It wasn't your idea," her tone was hollow. "There was a merger, Scranton absorbed Stamford."

"Oh."

"Karen was from the Stamford branch," the slight twinge that made her feel as if she wasn't being fair to Karen was back. It was kind of difficult to tell somebody else's boyfriend that you had feelings for them. "You came back with her."

"Oh."

She softened slightly. "To be honest, _you_ never really came back. Some version of you did, but not," she swallowed, "_my_ Jim."

He wanted to cry. Pam was single and seemed to, I don't know, _like_ him? Miss him?

"You've been… professional," she hedged.

"That doesn't sound like me," he attempted a hint of levity.

"I don't know anymore." Her words were wooden.

"Pam. Can we have a do-over? A fresh start? Please?" he pleaded. "I know – well, I don't _know_ – that I've been acting like an idiot lately, but me? Right here, right now in this hospital bed… You're the person who matters to me most? Can we – " he trailed off, unsure of what exactly to say. How exactly to fix it. He didn't care what recent Jim had been acting like, he was sure, deeply certain, that there was no way he was over Pam.

He pushed the sketchbook to the side and stretched his hand to Pam once more, his eyes pleading. She hesitated for a moment and Jim felt his entire future balance delicately on what would happen next. She slipped one hand gently into his… And then lowered her head into the other and wept in earnest.

Jim found that it was difficult, with a broken pelvis, to lean from his hospital bed, but he managed to manoeuvre himself so that his other hand rest on her back. He rubbed soothing circles as best he could as her shoulders shook. "Pam…"

"I," she hiccupped between sobs, "am so scared that you're going to remember and be mad at me again."

"No. _No_," he repeated. "Because I'm going to remember this Pam. I'm going to remember that even though I've been treating you like rubbish, you're the one sitting at my hospital bed."

"You're going to remember that you love _Karen_," her tears intensified at the thought.

"It doesn't matter," he argued. "I'll remember that you were the first here. I'll remember that you stayed when she left."

She gulped air into her aching lungs. "It won't matter."

"It _will_." He stared at her helplessly, feeling her shoulders continue to continue to rise and fall with each heady sob. "You have to trust me," he pleaded.

She raised her blurry eyes to find his face, desperation radiating from it. "You're with Karen," she whispered.

"I don't care. Pam, I'm in love with _you_."


	5. Chapter 5

_"__So, double jeopardy, we're fine.__"_

Jim's internal hysteria is peaking. He doesn't even remember who this damn Karen woman is. He felt nothing when she walked into his room earlier, _nothing_. But Pam? He feels everything when Pam is in the room. He gravitates towards her. If he had to add the number of hours he'd spent by the reception desk in his days at Dunder Mifflin, he's sure it would eclipse the time spent at his desk.

He can't imagine a universe wherein he had been able to switch it off. He can't even imagine a universe where he would _want_ to switch it off.

Sure, there was a dull pain every time he remembered Roy's existence, but that aside, Pam was a part of everything that brought him joy in life.

So, he'd said it – _Pam, I'm in love with you_ – and this time he was going to remember it. Michael could hit him with ten cars and this would stick, he was certain.

The rumblings of Pam's shoulders ground to a halt at his declaration. She drew an unsteady breath. "Jim, you have no idea how badly I've been hoping to hear you say that again." She straightened brushing fiercely at her damp cheeks. She wiped her palms against her skirt before reaching one hand out and running her fingertips along the length of his jaw, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

This moment right here, her eyes bright and shining with the answers to all his questions. There was no way he was forgetting this.

Pam was torn between saying everything that she wanted to say and the elephant named Karen lingering somewhere in the back of the room. Mostly, she wanted to make things right. She wanted to undo everything that had been done on casino night. She wanted to tell Jim that he hadn't misinterpreted things and she wanted to be more than that too.

She wanted to kiss him. _Again_.

She bit that one back, settling for reaching out and running her hand over his jaw. She didn't want a repeat of casino night in that regard – except it would be Jim remembering that he had someone else and struggling with a strange guilt and grief intertwined with the joy. She was all too familiar with that feeling to wish it on Jim.

He was gazing at her with a look reminiscent of their night on Lake Wallenpaupack, a look loaded with emotion and throwing caution to the wind. This time though, instead of a rushed _I'm cold_, as she ran away from everything in his eyes, she leant into it. "I love you too, Jim," she stated.

His answering grin took her breath away. He clutched at the hand caressing his face and pressed his lips to her palm. "But," she entreated gently. "You need to figure things out with Karen and," she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, "you need to get your memory back and figure out what this all means for you."

"It means _everything_," his reassurances counted for something, but did little to quash the unease still tumbling through her.

"To me too," she murmured.

It was one of those, speak of the devil and he – or she in this instance – shall appear moments as a familiar (to some) voice cut into their conversation.

"Pam," a curt nod from Karen greeted her, narrowing her eyes once again as she examined Pam's close proximity to Jim. Pam brushed her thumb gently over Jim's cheek one last time before her hand began its retreat. Karen's gaze softened as she turned her gaze to Jim.

Pam pushed her chair back slightly, rising to her feet. "I'll let you guys talk. I won't be far," she promised Jim.

"You don't have to go," he moped ever so slightly.

She grinned. "I do. I'll get you a soda?" she paused, before adding softly, "grape?"

"Is that rhetorical? Please." She wished that just like that, the past year was erased for her too, but the inherent _her_ Jim of it all started to heal the ache that had been settled under her ribs for months.

Jim didn't miss the flicker of confusion that flashed through Karen's expression at his interaction with Pam.

"Weird," she murmured as she took her earlier seat.

Jim shifted slightly so that he was facing her. "What's weird?"

She shrugged, before adding, "I got you grape soda from the vending machine at the office one day and you told me that you didn't really like it."

"Oh." Jim replied. "Grape is my favorite," he added and the air of awkwardness in the room increased tenfold. He shifted uncomfortably as the look of confusion seemed to permanently etch itself onto Karen's face. "This is kind of stupid, but can you please tell me about the Jim you've been dating?"

Her gaze softened somewhat and he thought he perceived some fondness behind all the seriousness. "You're a hard worker, most of the time," a slight sigh. Jim got the impression that Karen wasn't one for spending many a workday pranking Dwight… But what would he know, maybe he was being a little harsh. Surely there had been something that had drawn him to her? Even if it were just another in a not so long line of doomed relationships that paled in comparison to his friendship with Pam.

"Since the merger, you're the assistant regional manager," there was an air of smugness. She was clearly proud of him having this position. "We've been talking a little about putting in for a role at corporate the next time they're advertising," she shrugged. "I think you'd be great."

Jim was back to thinking this entire thing was the greatest prank of all time orchestrated by the genius that was Pam. _Assistant. Regional. Manager?_ Over Dwight's dead body. _Corporate?_ Over his dead body.

"Outside of work?" he deadpanned, a little confused about this version of Jim that appeared to view Dunder Mifflin as a _career?_

She eyed him shrewdly. "You're predictable, I guess. You eat the same lunch every day."

"Ham and cheese," he chuckled and was met with the shake of her head.

"Tuna fish," she corrected, the confusion back in full force. "You… We've been on a health kick. You've been cycling to work."

"And look where that got me," Jim laughed darkly, gesturing to the hospital bed and his cracked pelvis.

Karen gave him a half smile. "Yeah."

"Michael," Jim sighed with the steady shake of his head.

Karen's eyes flashed with anger in response. "He's insane," she exhaled. "I've never met a bigger idiot." There was no humour to her tone, none of that usual sort of bordering of fond, but frustrated understanding that tended to exist when it came to Michael. Jim found her lack of endearment for Michael and his antics a little odd. Above all else, Michael was well intentioned.

He was finding that the more he spoke with Karen, the less he understood. She was clearly work oriented, which essentially made her the female version of Dwight – with more social graces, but that was a low bar. She seemed to think _he_ was also work focussed, which was baffling at best. She didn't get Michael… He supposed that perhaps, Michael hitting her boyfriend with his car had diminished her opinion of him, but he didn't get that impression. If he had to guess, she hadn't had liked him much before this morning either.

He had more questions than answers. "When did we start dating?" he asked, figuring he had to start somewhere and the beginning seemed somewhat logical.

"November," she smiled, seemingly glad that Jim was taking an interest in their relationship.

He winced slightly, "how, uh, soon was that before the merger with Scranton?"

"You asked me out on the Saturday and we started in Scranton on the Monday," she replied with furrowed brow.

"Oh."

He was trash. Actual garbage. He could piece together his thought processes without the memory. He had clearly been too scared to face Pam. He'd used Karen. It didn't take much more than the date for him to figure that out. If he'd really, genuinely liked Karen he would've had the gumption to ask her out in Stamford. Surely…

Although, it had taken him years to have an honest conversation with Pam, so maybe he was just a coward. He quickly shook that thought from his head.

He'd asked out plenty of girls without issue and huge chunks of hesitation. This was clear cut. He'd been treating Karen badly. He was certain. She didn't know him, not really. That much was obvious.

"I'm sorry," he started gently.

She eyed him sharply. "For what?"

"I don't think I've been very fair with you, or very honest."

"Stop Jim," she huffed a frustrated breath. "You'll remember soon and this mess will be over."

She was right. The mess would be over. It _was_ over. There was a soft, but steady version of Pam before him, gently declaring that she loved him. That was it for him. The memories may return, but this would stay and this would win. He was sure of it.

He tried to think of careful phrasing, he tried to put it delicately, but his mouth opened and, "I think we should break up," spilled clumsily out.

"No," Karen decreed. "Don't be ridiculous." She reached out a hand to plump his pillows. "You'll remember," she nodded. He wondered if it sounded as hollow to her as it did to him.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured. "It won't change things for me," there was an unspoken _now_ that followed.

Karen frowned at him. "This is bullshit. You don't even talk to Pam. Hell, I've seen you talk to Phyllis more," she scoffed. "The first hint I got that Pam was anything special to you was when she hightailed it out of the office after Michael declared that you'd been hit by a car."

Jim wondered how Karen would feel if she knew that her words only served to intensify his gratefulness that Pam was here. He'd been hurting and taking it out on her, he could piece that together from everything that Karen said and Pam had left unsaid. He'd been treating Pam poorly and yet she was the first one to rush to his bedside. She was the one to stay. He didn't deserve her, that much was clear. But, somehow, against all the damn odds it seemed that he _had her_.

"I should've known something was up," Karen was pacing now, muttering as she crossed the foot of his bed over and over again. "God, it makes sense now." She froze, arms crossed, eyes on Jim, "everyone knows don't they?"

He hung his head ever so slightly. She snorted and resumed her pacing. "Everyone," she murmured. "When Pam ran from the office, Kevin winked and said _niiiice PB & J_ before putting out a hand to Oscar for a fist bump…"

It took everything in Jim's power not to crack a smile. He'd be returning that fist bump to Kev at the first available moment.

"She called off her damn wedding for you, you know that right?" Karen was back at her seat.

"I do now," Jim felt the heat warming his cheeks.

Karen didn't miss it. "That's why this is over, isn't it?" He nodded.

"I'm sorry."

"Save it," she frowned. "You owe me an explanation when you get your head on straight. You know where to find me," she paused. "Well, you _will_ know I guess."

Jim nodded mutely in response. He wasn't looking forward to that conversation. Karen stalked from the room, without so much as a backwards glance.

Mere moments later Pam flitted back in. "I was hiding around the corner waiting for her to leave," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Eavesdropping will get you everywhere Beesly," he grinned.

"I only heard the end," she shrugged.

"The end it definitely was." He was met with a watery beam, which seemed to be her go to today. He didn't miss the way it slipped slightly at the edges.

Karen's earlier monologue rang in his ears. "Pam," he jerked his chin, signally that she should move closer. "This is what I remember. You're the best person I know. You treat Michael with far more kindness than he deserves – "

The comparison was now stark. It wasn't fair that he was comparing the small snippet of Karen that he knew to Pam, but it was inevitable. He compared everyone to Pam, and everyone fell short. No one had the same steady kindness as Pam, especially when it came to their bumbling boss.

"Not this time when I line him up in the parking lot and exact my revenge," she interrupted.

"You're the only person I know who can somehow charm Dwight into believing just about anything," he continued, undeterred.

"Just wait to you see what I've got planned for Christmas," she grinned. His eyes lit up in response.

"Put a pin in that," he chuckled. "I think Angela may even not despise you."

"That was before I called off a wedding. That ship has definitely sailed. I'm a hussy now," she shrugged.

"Hush, let me continue with my praise."

He was interrupted again. However, he decided instantly that her lips gently pressing against his was a very welcome interruption. In fact, she could interrupt him anytime. He was kind of annoyed he wasn't hooked up to one of those heart rate monitor machines so he could have the movie cliché where his heart visibly sped up at her touch.

Speaking of clichés, if he was the type to believe in fairy-tale-esque memory restoring kisses, this would be the one to do it. Instead, he committed to memorising every sensation of this moment.

It was amazing how the simple, tame press of her lips to his was enough to set his heart racing and drive his pulse wild. She pulled back to gaze at him and he licked his lips, tasting something inherently Pam in what remained.

She bit her tongue between her teeth, a tiny sliver of pink showing and his heart clean stopped. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"I'm not."

"I said we should wait. The truth is, I've been waiting for you to break up with Karen for a month and I'm done with waiting."


	6. Chapter 6

_"__I'm not superstitious, but I am a little stitious."_

Jim is beginning to rethink his earlier stance – believing this was a prank was obviously insane. It's perfectly clear, and somehow unsurprising, that the impact of Michael's car has killed him. This is the afterlife. His utopia. He is being rewarded for his bland, yet mostly wholesome and _good_ life. If this is his version of heaven, he'll gladly take it.

Although, if this is indeed his reward for a life well lived, the crack in his pelvis is a bit of a slap in the face. Maybe this is his penance for punching Jimmy Wilson in the face in the fifth grade after he'd called Larissa a dummy? But, to be fair, Jimmy definitely had it coming.

The nurse returns and informs him that she needs to prep the area for a cast. Pam cracks a joke about a chastity belt, and yeah, okay it's back to feeling like heaven.

The remainder of the day passes by quietly. Jim is told that he will need to spend the night in the hospital to monitor his concussion. The adrenaline of the morning wears off and he is hit with a wave of exhaustion. He naps, as Pam sits beside him, content to spend the afternoon with a pencil in her hand and her sketchbook propped up on her lap.

She nudges him awake every hour or so, after a nurse who ducks into the room instructs her to do so. He grins wearily at her each time and answers her questions. He knows his birthday and always gives hers also, and yes, it still feels like January to him.

Phyllis stops by at the end of the work day. She grins a knowing look like the cat who ate the canary to find Pam at Jim's bedside with no sign of Karen. Pam slips from the room, giving Jim a chance to catch up with Phyllis and taking a much needed bathroom break.

She returns to the tail-end of their conversation. "I was this close to saying something to Karen," Phyllis is declaring. "Something subtle, like how it was nice to see you moving on after pining after Pam for so long," she shrugs. "I was sure it would drive her crazy," Pam can hear the devious glint in her eyes from the doorway.

She leans against the frame to listen. Jim's still a little dopey from an afternoon spent napping and his reply is softer so she doesn't quite catch it. She figures it was something to do with her from Phyllis' response. "I was getting sick of Pam making those huge puppy dog eyes at the back of your neck. We've all been worried about her. At first we thought it was about calling off the wedding, but after she the better part of a month staring at your desk it wasn't hard to figure out."

Phyllis swings around to wink at her, obviously not missing her entrance. Pam blushes fiercely. "I should probably apologise to Ryan for that," she shrugs, returning to her chair.

"Ryan sits in your desk now," Phyllis explains after Jim crinkles his brow at Pam. She glances at her watch. "Bob's waiting in the car, I'd better go," she adds. She blows Jim a kiss and throws Pam another loaded wink. She pauses at the door and eyes Pam sharply. "This is great, _but_ when a new client calls, you have to randomly assign them to a salesperson. You can't give all the clients to Jim based on," she waves her hand between them, "this."

"Umm," Pam replies as Phyllis turns on her heel and drifts away.

"Phyllis Lapin, ladies and gents," Jim exhales with the shake of his head.

Pam gapes at him, before blinking slowly in an attempt to erase the past twenty seconds from her mind. "Soon to be Vance," she murmurs, because Jim likely doesn't recall the invitation that's probably decorating his refrigerator much like it is hers.

"No kidding," Jim replies with an easy smile.

Pam spends the night draped across a couple of the finest chairs that Scranton Hospital has on offer. She doesn't suggest leaving and Jim doesn't ask her to. She wakes, with a crick in her neck, and a slow bloom of contentedness settling deep in her stomach. Jim's hand is still flopped over the edge of the bed, reaching towards her. She doesn't hesitate in reaching out to tether herself to him once again.

She takes him home, to his house, once the doctor gives him the all clear. Their final conversation with him is mostly measured shrugs. His shoulders rise and fall when they ask about memories and timeframes. He responds with phrases like _healthy brain_, _young_ and _should return_. Nothing is set in stone. There is no definitive answer.

They drive in circles after leaving the hospital. He doesn't know where he lives and neither does she. It takes them far too long, and he's contemplating the awkwardness of suggesting they call Karen to ask, when she finds the address on the drivers license in his wallet with laughter in her voice and the roll of her eyes because maybe they are kind of idiots.

Pam finds bubbles of grief rising to interrupt the carefully constructed pool of serenity that she's clinging to. She doesn't miss the subtle ways that Karen fills this space – _Jim's_ house. A house that she's never seen before, and up until ten minutes ago, had no idea it was less than two miles from her own.

A wine glass rests beside a beer glass in the sink. If Pam squints just right she can make out the delicate remnants of Karen's lip gloss, staining the rim of the glass. Jim rubs the back of his neck furiously as he follows her gaze to the sink, where a pile of washing up, clearly from a dinner for two remains.

He sighs. "Ready for the worst house tour of all time," he attempts weakly, trying to brush past the awkwardness and the shifting energy in the room. Gone is the laughter that filled their car ride. In its place, a buzzing nervousness.

"There better be three kitchens," Pam states, forcing out a lighter tone than she feels.

Jim shoots her a quizzical tone, "like all the good apartments have?"

"Exactly, how are you going to cook every meal of the day in one kitchen?" she teases. Even though Jim is missing the context, he grins at her. She winks. His grin widens. "It'll make more sense when… you know…" she adds.

He taps the side of his head sagely. "Three kitchens," he nods, "got it." He looks around the room, "there's definitely one."

She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "Things better start improving on this tour, Jim."

He shuffles to the first door in the hallway and opens it with flourish. "Oh. That's a cupboard," he frowns.

"Nice towels," she drawls very seriously.

She is met with an eyeroll and the door closing. "Next," Jim murmurs, slowly moving down the hall, not exactly a natural with the crutches that were helping him to manoeuvre his awkward crotch cast around.

He finds a bedroom that strikes him as uncharacteristically neat and adult. His bed is covered in sensible deep blue sheets that have aged him ten years. He can see the person he's been _trying_ to be in this room, he can see the Jim that Karen described – professional and serious. He hates it. He wants some stripes and spots and abstract patterns. He wants the same quilt he's had since he was nineteen and moving out and his mom picked it out for her.

Pam assesses the room with wide eyes. She's grateful for a lack of Karen's underwear splayed across the floor given the earlier scene in the kitchen. It's different. "It's more masculine than I expected," she admits finally. "Different from your room at Mark's," she adds.

"It's less college dorm and more creepy bachelor pad," Jim states.

"Exactly," she crinkles her nose. It's adorable. "Interesting design choice there."

"Clearly, I haven't been in my right mind," he sighs, shaking his head. What alternate reality has he stumbled into? It's not the first time that he thinks he could live without the memories returning. This place really doesn't feel like home. There's nothing familiar about it.

The only real indication that he actually lives here, is the photo of his family propped up on the dresser. He gazes at it for a moment before his stomach drops. _Oh_. The blush creeps up his neck as he turns to Pam and hopes she doesn't think that he is the lamest adult male of all time because he finally has her in his bedroom and – "I really should call my mom," he winces.

Pam's smile blooms. "You really should."

"I, yeah."

"I should've called your parents yesterday. Of course," she murmurs. "I'm sorry, Jim. I wasn't really thinking straight."

He gives her that toothy grin in response. She leaves him in his room as he hits the call button on his cell. She hears the start of the call, "Hi mom. It's not a big deal, but…" as she wanders back to the kitchen.

The remnants of his night with Karen send a shiver through her soul once again, so she fixes it. She runs the sink and is elbow deep in the dishes when Jim finds her a few minutes later. The crutches click and clack as he makes his way across the room, so she has plenty of warning when he materialises at her side a moment later.

"You didn't have to do that," his breath is warm at the side of her neck and goose bumps instantly form in its wake.

She shrugs. "I wanted to," she mutters around a thick lump in her throat. He leans forward and hesitates for a second, swallowing roughly before pressing a delicate kiss to her collarbone. Her reaction surprises them both.

She drops the plate that had been between her fingers into the sink with a thud and flings herself into his arms. Somehow he manages to turn, so that his back presses to the bench, taking his weight as the crutches crash to the ground. He wraps his arms around her as she winds herself around him. They steady and his lips are dusting her hair.

"Jim," she sighs.

"I know," he answers, his tone bright with wonder.

She grips him tighter still and he mirrors her. He rubs his hands over her back and tries not to think too hard about the way her breathing hitches as his hands dip near the base of her spine. He feels her lips press into his throat and his heart just about stops.

And because he is apparently the biggest idiot in the world, he ruins the moment, by stating, "my mom is coming over," and her shoulders start shaking as she giggles against him.

She slackens her grip ever so slightly and he does the same. As she slips out from him with a wide smile, she ducks to grab his crutches and return them to him. She finishes the washing up, the smile hinting at her lips the entire time. She dries her hands on his tea towel and turns her gaze on him once again. "I should go and let you catch up with your mom," he likes the reluctance coloring her tone.

She's already halfway across the room before he stops gazing at her for long enough to form the makings of a response. "Pam, I," he really doesn't want to _not_ be in the same room as her. Why is that so difficult to articulate?

Pam seems to understand though, as she returns to stand before him. Her mouth opens and closes before she gives up on words and decides actions will speak better. She kisses him sweetly and soundly. "See you tomorrow," she breathes as their lips part.

"Yeah, tomorrow," he echoes as she crosses the room again.

As Pam turns out of the street, she thinks she sees his mother pull into Jim's drive and a flicker of peace passes through her to know that he's safe and sound. By the time she's made it the couple of miles home, the sense of calm has passed and she's left with impending dread.

Being with Jim and watching the light in his eyes at her very presence has lulled her into a false sense of security. On her own, the doubts consume her and she spends a sleepless night wondering _if_ and _when_ the memories will return and what it will mean for her. Of one thing she is sure, if with memories intact, he decides he wants nothing to do with her, her world will be plunged into an even darker night than the one she has been living in for the past few months.

She wakes, or more accurately gets up, and prepares herself for work as she tries to ignore the blackness looming in the wings.


	7. Chapter 7

_"__I'll tell you what's going on. This office is cursed. And we have to do something."_

Pam finds a flicker of hope in the bottom of her tea. As she gulps down the last of it, her phone chimes with a message from Jim. He wishes her good morning and grumbles about his inability to return to work for the day. Apparently, his mother has suggested that another day of bedrest will do him the world of good. Pam doesn't want to go the day without seeing him, but is inclined to believe that perhaps his mother does know best.

She promises to stop by after work to check in on him and the tone of his messages brightens significantly. She settles into a happiness that brushes the uneasiness back under the carpet.

It's a strange day at the office. Michael hangs back from her all day, withering under her gaze and steadfastly refusing to visit reception. She overhears him making plans with Dwight to organise a fun run to raise money for pelvis injuries, the silent American killer – she quickly puts a stop to it, reassuring Michael that Jim is fine and will be back tomorrow. Dwight interjects to tell them that he's watched the security tape and Michael can't call pelvis injuries the silent killer because there was a distinct thud when Michael's car collided with Jim's pelvis.

When Pam's reassurances that Jim is fine don't work, she convinces Michael that a fun run would be highly insensitive given that Jim can't walk unaided at the moment, much less _run_. That seems to work, as his face falls and he turns on Dwight, insisting that _Dwight's _fun run idea is terrible.

She learns that Michael had faced a difficult day in the office after receiving a less than impressed reception to running over a co-worker. Oscar fills her in over lunch about the conference room meeting where Michael accused them of being cursed and tried to discuss everyone's religious beliefs.

Oscar spends the entire retelling shaking his head as he relives his disbelief as Pam attempts to stifle her laugher, because _of course_ that would be Michael's response. She's not even the smallest part surprised to learn of his antics.

She uses the time that Michael doesn't approach her desk – which she learns frees up a lot of her day – to fill Jim in. She sends him messages throughout the day. At one point, he calls, and she simply leaves the phone on her desk and allows him to catch the comings and goings of the office.

This call abruptly ends as she looks up from the important game of FreeCell she is playing as she murmurs to Jim every now and then and finds Karen at her desk. Karen grabs a jellybean, even though Pam knows she doesn't really eat them. "How is he?"

"Same as yesterday," she replies. Karen nods and turns away. Pam catches an emotion she can't quite name, which is quickly shuttered away as she leaves. She thinks maybe there's a hint of relief, like Karen is glad to hear the memories haven't returned because she's expecting something to change when they do?

She thinks Karen may actually really be in _like_ with Jim, or at least the version of Jim she has so carefully cultivated. There's a part of Pam that can empathise, because she's been really in love with Jim for months, maybe longer, and it's hard when he's clearly into someone else. As Michael would say, how the turntables…

Pam waits half an hour before she calls Jim back. She doesn't relay the conversation with Karen – if you could call it that – and he doesn't ask. They're giggling their way through the afternoon when she hears another voice enter Jim's call. His mother has returned from running errands to check in on him.

Betsy Halpert sounds so very motherly that Pam can't help but grin. Pam can't quite make out her words, but it appears she's fluffing Jim's pillows and generally cooing over him. She muffles a chuckle. The phone beeps a couple of times and she thinks that maybe Jim is trying to hang up on her and missing the button. He must hit the speaker key as all of a sudden she can hear things a lot more clearly. She shifts the receiver away from her mouth and attempts to silence her breathing as much as possible.

She expects some more gentle mothering that she can tease him mercilessly about later on, but instead she hears Betsy sigh and perch herself on the end of Jim's bed with what she can only picture to be a deeply serious expression.

"Sweetheart," she starts, and Pam closes her eyes to images of a shaggy haired Jim at twelve as his mom soothes him following his first rejection at the middle school dance. "You know you're _my_ boy."

"Mom," he sighs.

"I'm serious. Pete and Tom are your father all over, but you, you're _me_."

"And Larissa's a mystery."

"Well, yes. A little," they both chuckle with shared understanding that makes Pam feel somewhat intrusive listening in – not enough to prompt her to hang up the phone. Betsy sobers. "You haven't been yourself this year, son." The bed shuffles and Pam thinks maybe Jim is hanging his head and steadily avoiding his mother's gaze.

"You know, the first I learnt Karen's name was last night when you asked me to fill in some blanks. You told us you were dating someone, but you were," she sighs, "prickly at best about it. Guarded," she adds. "And when we asked you about work, and your _friends_…"

"Pam," he whispers, saying what his mother isn't.

"Yes. She went from being the regular feature in all your stories to not a mention." It stings when his mother puts it that way.

"I love her," he croaks.

"Oh sweetheart, we know."

"Larissa," they both utter.

"You and your sister had a big night on the town before you moved to Stamford. She filled me in on a few of the blanks. Every time I've tried to talk to you about it all, you haven't been very receptive," there is a wince to her voice and Pam hears Jim groan.

"Sorry, mom," he mutters.

"I think you're ready to hear it now. Larissa tells me that girl called off her wedding for _you_ and you've been pointedly ignoring it. You've been so damn unhappy this year. It's time you talk to her about it."

Jim chuckles. "Who do you think drove me home from the hospital, mom?"

"That Karen girl you barely speak about," his mother sighs – again. Pam chokes back a snigger in her attempt to remain silent.

He waits a beat for the penny to drop. "Oh. _Pam_. That's why you're in such a good mood today."

"Moooom."

"I tell you what Jim, it might do you a world of good not to have those memories from the past few months return at all."

"I'm starting to think the same thing."

Pam echoes his wish with a silent one of her own. Jim can live without those memories. She wants to keep hers though. She wouldn't be in this moment without the hard and the hurt and the horrible. She likes this moment, where Jim tells his mom that he loves her and kisses her with an enthusiasm that makes her knees weak.

She feels a little weird about being a voyeur in this whole personal conversation. Jim's mom is chatting brightly about a cup of tea and she thinks she hears his door creak. She waits another five careful, quiet seconds before she hisses, "Jim," and hears him fumble with the phone.

"Pam," he squeaks, "you're still there."

"I, uh, like your mom," she smiles into the phone.

"Yeah, I… me too."

Jim flits between embarrassed and _embarrassed_ for the next forty-five minutes. After pondering every word of the conversation for far too long, it passes. It doesn't seem to have diminished his standing in Pam's eyes, the remainder of their conversation maintaining the same general tone of barely veiled flirting as it had all day.

He had been kind of touched to hear Michael's terrible fun run plan in his honour. At the same time, he understood that Michael's motivations were more about clearing his conscience than apologising to Jim. Still, it was a sweet gesture of sorts nonetheless. He was a little apprehensive to discover which version of Michael would greet him upon his return to the office the following day. He was sure it would be _peak Michael_, only he wasn't quite certain what that could entail.

Thinking of someone being their peak selves brings him back to his mother, who is fine form. She has decided that since he is essentially bed-ridden, she will use the opportunity to spring clean his apartment – her words, which essentially entails going through everything he owns and generally being nosey – his words.

She finds his old quilt stuffed into the back of a cupboard and nudges him onto the sofa as she changes his sheets. He rolls his eyes a little, but thanks her, because it's definitely an improvement and he feels a bit more like himself once again.

Betsy must really go through his entire apartment, because she finds a beat up old shoebox that Jim recognises immediately and snatches from her a little too hastily, arousing all her suspicions. She plonks herself back on the foot of his bed and waits for him to elaborate. "Mooom," he whines. "It's private."

"I'm your mother," she shrugs as if that justifies her knowing every waking detail of his life. He opens the shoebox gingerly and thanks his past self, who apparently was the world's biggest arse, for at the very least not throwing _this_ away.

He pulls item after item from the box as his mother watches with a bemused expression at the junk that he has apparently been reverently hoarding. There's another little golf pencil, the pair to the one he slipped into the Christmas teapot last year. There are doodles on a myriad of coloured post-it notes and slips of paper. It's not until he pulls out the polaroid in the bottom of the box that it clicks and his mother releases a slow whoosh of air.

"It's your Pam box," she states simply.

He nods. "I'm glad I didn't throw it out," he murmurs, propping up the photo on his bedside table. It's an old shot of himself and Pam that Michael had taken a couple of years earlier. He's filling a door frame and Pam stands opposite him, arms wrapped around herself as she smiles softly at him. Neither of them face the camera. He's in middle of telling her about the first time he ever put Dwight's stapler in jello, with a smirk painting his face and a smug joy radiating from him.

His mother doesn't comment further, but he notices the way her eyes linger on the image for a few moments, before returning to him.

Betsy finishes her spring cleaning of sorts and Jim begins to recognise the house around him. There are a few more treasures of sorts tucked into the back of cupboards that make their way into the décor. It's nice to know that all these pieces of himself remain, and haven't been completely discarded. It helps to feel like he's been faking it, not that he actually has changed as much as everything in this slightly off-kilter life he's woken to has indicated.

By the time five o'clock rolls around, he's been hinting at his mother to leave his house and return to her own. He's thanked her vigorously for helping him out all day. Betsy has other plans, and has steadily been dragging out her departure. At 5.15pm, the sound of a car pulling into the drive has Jim glaring at his mother, who for her part, is doing a fantastic job of playing innocent. She's bumbling around his kitchen, attempting to appear busy.

He's managed to hustle her as far as the door, when a knock resounds and he rolls his eyes very dramatically at her. She pats his cheek with a longsuffering smirk and whips the door open before he has a chance to process the move.

Pam schools her surprise quickly before reaching out a steady hand. "Hi Mrs Halpert."

"Hi Pam," his mother beams, brushing her hand away as she clasps her in a momentary hug instead.

"Oh," Pam squeaks, there's no masking the surprise this time. She blushes slightly at being accosted by Betsy who is bubbling with excitement that she's managed to _finally_ meet _the_ Pam.

Jim curses that he's ever told his sister anything, because this Pam knowledge his mother holds has all been filtered through Larissa.

"It's nice to meet you," Pam adds politely.

"My mother was just leaving," Jim adds less politely.

He finds himself on the receiving end of another affectionate cheek pat for that.

"I ordered pizza. It should be here soon. I think there will be enough for everyone," Pam shrugs off her coat and tugs the door closed behind her. Jim tries a little too late to stick his crutch in the way of the closing door and push his mother through it. Instead, she returns to sit at his kitchen bench.

"Perfect," Betsy trills.

"Perfect," Jim groans.

Pam mimics his mothers cheek pat and grins at him.

Truth be told, there's a part of him that excited to for his mother and Pam to meet. But, the far more selfish and clearly more dominant part of him in this moment, just wants Pam to himself. He still can't believe she's here, with him and they're starting _something_.

All he feels is joy, with deep contentedness seeping around the edges. He would be happy to live in these moments forever.


	8. Chapter 8

_"__I never puked my heart out. I'm very, very proud of that." _

His mother, for all her insistence to meet Pam, doesn't stay for long. She makes polite small talk with Pam until the pizza arrives and excuses herself, because _someone_ has to feed Jim's father before he starves to death. She levels Jim with what he hopes is a look of approval as she brushes a kiss to his cheek and heads for the door.

The second the door latches behind him, Pam is in his arms. She hugs him tightly, before leaning back to whisper, "hi," suddenly shy. He drops the half eaten slice of pizza in his hand back to his plate, before wrapping his arms around her frame and pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. She tastes like second chances and tomato sauce. His favorite flavour.

"I missed you," blurts out when he opens his mouth to murmur his own greeting. She grins and has the decency not to mention that they've spent half the day on the phone or texting.

They finish dinner and she fills him in on the latest from the office, which includes Dwight insisting on driving Michael home as his car is in the shop getting the Jim-shaped dent buffered out of it.

"They're calling it a Jim-dentation," she shakes her head dismissively, but he sees the grin peaking at the edges.

"Naturally."

"Dwight has photos of the damage, sorry _Jim-dentations_, to Michael's car. He printed them off and they argued for ten minutes whether one particular dent was from your handlebars or your hips." Pam eyes his pelvis in a manner he can only describe as suggestive. He feels his body temperature rise by approximately eighteen degrees. "I broke the tie," she grins, with a slow, deliberate wink.

"Oh," he manages to choke out.

When he regains his faculties, he asks her to get his painkillers from his bedside table which is a very deliberate ploy to get her into his bedroom. And by in his bedroom, he regretfully means to literally look at his new-old sheets and nothing more.

She returns with a smile that stretches from ear to ear and tells him that the apartment is growing on her, and she can see _him_ in it now.

When he settles in bed after wishing her a lingering goodnight on his doorstep, he finds the polaroid in a slightly different position and knows that she has seen it.

Morning can't come quickly enough. He relishes in the fact that no one is waking him every couple of hours to check that he's still lucid. He sleeps deeply despite the awkward cast and general uncomfortableness.

He changes his tune about morning, after he walks – hobbles – into the office to find Meredith at his desk with a twinkle in her eyes. She holds out a sharpie in her hand with a bright, and decidedly creepy smile. "Can I sign your cast?" she croons. "I want to get right in there."

He glances over to reception to find Pam watching the interaction with wide eyes. She has to bite down on her fist to keep from laughing aloud.

Jim lowers Meredith's hand with a barely coated grimace. "Uh. No thanks."

"You can sign the card I got for Jim," Pam chirps, materialising at his side.

Meredith rolls her eyes and snorts. "Sure," she yanks the card from Pam's hand. "I write a mean limerick," she winks at Jim.

"Five bucks it's a dirty limerick," Pam whispers in his ear as Meredith returns to her desk.

He shudders. "Why is Meredith more Meredith than usual?"

"Today's the Christmas party," Pam laughs. They turn to watch Meredith take a gulp from her cup.

"Twenty bucks that's peppermint schnapps."

"Oh, that's guaranteed. I'm not throwing twenty bucks away on those odds."

"Christmas in January," Jim sighs, rubbing his temples.

Pam snorts. "It's only January for _you_."

"I'm glad we can laugh about it."

Pam grimaces a little and perhaps they can't really laugh about it just yet.

Jim starts to manoeuvre his gawky pelvis bulk into his chair, but Pam stops him with a gentle shake of her head and her hand on his shoulder. It takes him a moment before he sighs, remembering Phyllis' hospital visit. This is supposedly _Ryan's_ chair.

Dwight eyes him suspiciously. "What are you playing at, Jim?"

He shrugs, winking at Dwight before shuffling over to his actual desk, a desk that Pam is inclining her head at so he knows where he's supposed to be. There's nothing to be gained but trouble by informing Dwight that the past few months no longer take up residence in his mind.

Pam's fingers brush against the nape of his neck as she returns to reception. It's enough to steel him to face the day in a place that feels all too familiar and completely different all in the same breath.

It takes all of two minutes before he decides he hates this desk. He's facing Dwight, which is something special. But, it's the only thing about this new position that has potential. He's sure he can craft a prank that builds on this direct eye contact. Other than that, it's the worst. He's kind of facing Karen which is all kinds of uncomfortable, because she keeps glancing up at him and he can't quite read her expression.

Of course, that all pales in comparison to the biggest downfall of this desk – he has his back to Pam. At two and half minutes, he gives up. He swings his chair around and stares forlornly at Pam. She must take pity on him, because it takes all of one pouty expression and she's sliding her chair back and crossing the few paces to his desk.

"I hate it," he murmurs softy, conscious of Dwight's prying ears. She pats his hand gently and deposits the jelly bean jar from reception onto his desk.

"To help with the pain," she smiles and they both know they're not talking about his physical injuries.

Pam stifles a giggle. "Oh boy." Jim's raised brows ask the question. "Casually spin your chair around and look at Michael," she mouths. He complies, and finds Michael at his office window staring deeply at him. As Jim's gaze catches his, his hand reaches out the twist the blinds closed.

Meredith is nothing compared to Michael.

He alternates between staring at Jim with a frown and staring at Jim with a fond half-smile for over an hour. Just as Jim has found the end of his patience and decides he should go and apologise to Michael for the pain he's clearly caused _him_ for _allowing himself_ to be hit by Michael's car, Michael must sense his action. He opens his office door and clears his throat softly, "Jim. Jimothy... Jim, may I see you in my office."

Jim reaches for his crutches, but a sharp nod from Michael has Dwight swinging to life. They've clearly decided that Jim's desk chair is to be treated as a wheelchair and no sooner has he blinked and Dwight is behind him, shoving his chair towards Michael. His legs are too long and it's not graceful, but Dwight is _Dwight_ and pushes him with an unmatched persistence for the task.

He finds himself in the office with a contrite Michael. He wrings his hands as he solemnly apologises. Dwight jumps in with a helpful commentary, "you both need to pay more attention to your surroundings. I would never hit someone with my car and I would never be hit by a car. You're both to blame," he snorts.

"Thank you, Dwight," Michael snaps and gestures wildly at him to remove himself from the office. With Dwight's retreat, Michael closes the door.

"Thank you, Michael."

His boss eyes him shrewdly at his words.

"You're not mad? You don't want to sue me?" he slaps his hand over his mouth, apparently horrified that he would plant that idea in Jim's mind.

Jim grins. "Nope."

"Why?"

"It helped me put some things into perspective I guess."

Michael's eyeline travels over his shoulder, towards reception where Jim knows that Pam is watching on, without having to turn around. "Never ever, ever give up," he winks.

Jim has no idea what he is talking about, but nods emphatically. Michael claps him on the shoulder. "It's good to have _you_ back."

Jim fixes him with a curious glance – sometimes his boss comes across wiser than he gives him credit for and it seems Michael knows more than he _actually knows_. "I think I knocked Stamford Jim out of you," he adds proudly. "You're Scranton Jim again."

"I haven't been myself much lately, have I?"

Michael shakes his head and crinkles his nose. "You've been full of that Stamford smudgeness."

"I'm back now," Jim promises and swears to himself that it's true.

"I know."

"How?"

"You're talking to Pam again…" and whatever Michael did to Jim's physical body is nothing compared the way his words crack his heart in two.

Jim is still in with Michael when Pam finds herself whisked into the Party Planning Committee's final meeting in preparation for the Christmas party. Somehow Karen has joined the usual team of Angela and Phyllis.

"Remember, a Christmas drinking game," Meredith shouts as Pam rounds reception to head into the conference room.

"God help you," Angela hisses in reply.

This sets the tone for the entire meeting. Karen suggests traditions from the Stamford office which Angela promptly shoots down.

Pam leaves the meeting with a tension headache and genuine sympathy for Karen.

It spurs her to action. Their interactions in the hospital aside, which were just all kinds of awkward and soul revealing, she's been kind of cold to Karen… It's not really Karen's fault. She clearly had no idea about Pam's history – _is that even the right word in these circumstances?_ – with Jim. She thinks there's nothing to gain by being standoffish with Karen now.

Instead of returning to reception, she stands besides Karen's desk, waiting just long enough for Angela to be out of earshot before she offers Karen an apology. "It was crazy," she adds.

"Yeah, right?" Karen replies. "I'm glad you said that. Because, I don't know how those meetings usually go."

"Usually like that," Pam sighs.

Karen frowns. "Does anyone ever stand up to Angela?"

"I think one of her cats did once. She came in with scratches all over her face."

Karen giggles in response to that and Pam feels if she had arrived in Scranton under any other circumstances they would be friends by now. For the first time, she truly thinks that maybe they _still_ could be…

"I have an idea," she nods seriously at Karen who returns a somewhat cautious smile.

It takes Pam all of five minutes to draft up a poster for The Committee to Plan Parties Margarita-Karaoke Christmas. She emails it to Karen and winks exaggeratedly at her from reception. She receives a soft, genuine smile in response.

Of course, what follows is complete and utter chaos as Angela descends into absolute fury and the office is divided into factions over the warring parties. Jim adds fuel to the fire by declaring The Committee to Plan Parties valid.

Pam finds herself fall into an easier than anticipated truce with Karen throughout the afternoon. Her standing in Angela's eyes has however, drastically diminished. The small blonde glares at her at every available moment, ripping down the posters they display to advertise their competing party.

It's not until their party starts in the break room and Pam glances around the small space to realise that everyone apart from Dwight and Angela are present at _their_ party that Pam's conscience gets the best of her.

She tugs Karen to the side and murmurs gently to her. "Angela's tough to get to know, but underneath the many layers of stern exterior, she does care." She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "I think we should ease up on her."

Karen eyes her for a moment. "You know her best," she shrugs. "What are you thinking?"

"That we call this a day and merge the parties," Pam nods as she delivers her point.

Karen tilts her head at her. "You're nice, Pam."

"I… thanks." She thinks if she looks inside for the little part of her that has hated Karen for the past couple of months it may just be gone.

They head to the conference room to find Angela with her arms crossed and deep scowl etched across her face that only intensifies as they approach.

"Angela, we've been hearing really great things about, uh, your brownies and we were hoping you'd consider merging the two parties," Karen smiles politely.

"In the name of Nutcracker Christmas," Pam adds, and Angela's scowl droops and begins to rearrange itself into dare she say a courteous straight line. She nods her agreement and Dwight scrambles, grabbing the brownies and another plate and laying them on his desk out in the main office. The ladies, follow suit, each bringing a plate out to the desk.

After they broker peace with Angela, the two parties merge as one bringing a new level of spirit to the event. As the karaoke blares, Michael dims the office lights and lets the twinkling Christmas lights dance around the room instead. With the dull lights, it's reminiscent of the aftermath of the casino night. Pam settles against Jim's desk and closes her eyes to the wave of memories that crescendo and crash over her.

He's watching her from a corner of the break room and sees her sigh and lean against his old desk. It's enough to propel him forward, he steps close enough to feel the heat of her body and he sees her in purply-periwinkle, instead of the deep red sweater that's currently hugging her form.

For a second, he thinks he's reimagining the sketches she showed to him in the hospital. But his muscle memory kicks in and suddenly he's filled with that night and the thing that hits him hardest it how much it _hurts_. She echoes, _me too_ in his memory and the hope floods through him, only to be shattered to pieces moments later with the stubborn nod of her head. The ache is palpable and he feels his hand rise to clutch at his chest.

Pam opens her eyes to find Jim before her. She sees it, the exact moment the light catches his eyes and she _knows_. This tentative link with the dimly lit office, Jim's desk and all her memories – she's no longer the only one carrying these moments. Jim _remembers_.

She freezes, because she has no idea what this means for her, or more importantly, for them. She watches silently as his gaze flashes with a myriad of emotions.

The Christmas lights flickering in the office that had been so vivid moments before are now dull. Pam tenses for the darkness to sink in once again. The light that has been filling her consciousness for the past couple of days, illuminating everything in her mind's eyes begins to flicker and fade.

She feels her eyes prickle with tears and becomes all too aware that this is anything like _that_ night because they're literally surrounded by their colleagues. She tugs at the last reserves of her strength and tries to hang onto the remainder of the light floating out from under her, _she can do this_. She grasps Jim's hand gently and pulls him forward. She pauses to retrieve their coats and nudges him through the door. His face continues cycling through mixed emotions as she leads him to the roof.

Pam eyes the crutches and hesitates, but her concern is short-lived. Upper body strength is not something Jim is lacking in and he pulls himself up the ladder without hesitation. She follows him up in kind – and tries to ignore the way her arms are shaken with anticipation, and not the good kind. At the top of the ladder, she shrugs her coat on and gently pulls his arms into his.

On the roof, she waits him out.

She stares at the horizon, as tears slowly track down her cheeks. The color is almost completely gone. The scene before her plays in monotone. He stares at her. _Maybe_ this is a good sign, she can't tell because the emotions playing out on his face are still conflicted and everything inside her dulls.

This could be the beginning of the end, or this could be the beginning. She clings to hope in the silence, but feels the thread that binds them swaying dubiously in the wind that whips around them.

As the silence rings in her ears, she brings her gaze firmly back to him. He sinks to his knees and her heart plummets to the floor. This is _it_.

He hangs his head. "How can you still stand me after the way I've been treating you, Pam?" he chokes out. It's the same voice he used on the casino night. It's the voice of a broken man.

"I love you," she whispers into the wind and it floats over to him, the thread between them acting as two tin cans and a ball of twine.

Her words reverberate through him, the first gasp of air to a drowning man.

"I don't deserve you," he gasps, shaking his head in protest.

She mirrors him, shivering as her knees bite into the cold concrete surface of the roof. She shakes her head fiercely. It doesn't matter. All that matters is – "do you still want me?" Her voice breaks as the words fall from her lips.

He answers her by raising his head from his knees and meeting her eyes. His pupils are huge and blackened and Pam knows she will spend hours trying to recreate them in charcoal and it will never match the reality. He stares into her for a moment and she sees the same hunger and desperation beyond the blackness that was there when he _first_ kissed her in the poorly illuminated office. She drifts forward in anticipation and he breathes his _yes_ into her.

Several beats later, when his lips have drifted to her neck, she blurts out her reasoning for holding fast to the possibility of him in a breathy rush. "You waited five years for me, I figured I could wait you out if I had to. I hoped _you_ would really come back."

"Pam," escapes his lips, it's more a moan than a word, but she knows what he means and dips her head gently so that his mouth is flush with hers once again.

Jim has decided this rooftop is his favorite place in the whole damn world. He can almost taste his famous grilled cheese in Pam's breath as his rooftop memories grow and swirl, adding this experience to the catalogue he knows he will draw from to find joy for the rest of time. If he squints just the right way, he can almost see the fiery glow of Dwight being ridiculous in the background. Even better than those memories, is the _now_. Pam, flush against him, whispering promises of memories to come against his skin.

It feels like December now. With the missing months returned to him, he's ready to close the book on this year. He's weary with the weight of it. He's a fool. Kissing Pam weeks before her wedding with an escape plan already in motion. Not waiting her out. Stupid.

And then Karen. What a mess.

He wasn't that guy. Except, apparently he was, no longer was it only everyone around him – _his mom, Michael, Phyllis, Pam – _relaying what a jerk he'd been but his own mind provided the irrefutable truth. He'd been using Karen. There was no way around it. Sure, he _did_ kind of like her, he could remember that now, but it was such a vastly diluted feeling compared to everything he had and _does_ feel for Pam.

_Pam_. Those were the memories that hurt the most. Now he knew what his hurting self had been so quick to dismiss. He saw her smile on the morning of the merger and the desperation with which she clung to him as she hugged him hello. He could see that when she asked him to grab coffee, she was asking him _out._ He was a fool. That was the key message from the return of his memories.

He was done with being an oblivious idiot. He'd certainly done enough of it over the past few months. He tightened his grip around Pam and rubbed his hands up and down her back. He could feel her smile against her neck.

"Hey," she beams, leaning back to look at him.

"Hi," he smiles in response.

"I'm glad you're back and you're still you," she breathes.

"Me too."

Her face changes as he watches, a twinkle forms and he knows she's up to mischief. "I still haven't shown you my present," she whispers with the lilt of her brow. He grins at her questioningly and she presses her cold lips to his cheek once again before tugging him back down into the office.

She leads him to reception. He leans over the desk, fingers deftly plucking a green jellybean to nibble on as he waits her out. The party is in full swing around them still, but no one really seems to notice, all eyes are on Angela's, umm, rousing rendition of _Little Drummer Boy_.

"Sorry I haven't wrapped it," she laughs, handing over a manila folder. He arches a brow at her. "For the past few months I've been sending Dwight letters from the CIA."

His jaw drops.

"They're considering him for a top secret mission. There's his application. Oh, and this is where I made him list every secret he promised he'd never ever tell."

Jim attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor. He glances down to the note Pam is talking about. "Last year, my boss, Michael Scott, took a day off because he said he had pneumonia, but really, he was leaving early to go to magic camp. W-o-w," he enunciates.

She giggles. "Here's the gift. You get to decide what his top secret mission is."

Jim's jaw returns to the floor. "I love you," he gasps. "You did all this for me, after the way I've been acting?"

"I love you," she shrugs. "The hard part was figuring that out, but once I knew, there was no changing it. No matter how you were acting," she adds.

He doesn't think he will ever pick his jaw up after that.

He tugs his chair from his desk and plants it beside Pam's at reception. He sits, awkwardly as the trend for this day continues. Together they continue skimming through Pam's Dwight file, tossing ideas back and forth until one sticks. He suggests a transmission from the CIA stating that they need Dwight for an ice-cream social to meet the other agents.

Pam grins. "We should buy him a bus ticket," her hands rise to her computer. "To make his trip easier."

"Oh no, that would be great."

She furrows her brow and gestures at the screen before them. "It costs seventy-five dollars."

"Hmm… Well, maybe the CIA could send a helicopter."

"Oh," Pam giggles and types out a text to that effect. He beams at her, cataloguing the way the Christmas lights catch her eyes and storing it securely in his memory. He never wants to lose another thing.

Pam spends Saturday morning, the week after they start _officially_ dating – which is a contested subject because they can't decide if it should count as the hospital or the Christmas party – at the mall. She's in a rush, because she promised Jim they'd meet for lunch, which is likely to extend into dinner and then inevitably dessert, followed by uh, _second dessert_.

She only has one errand to run. It doesn't take long before she's in her favorite store, a place that's become all too familiar over the past few months. This time though, she weaves an untravelled – by her anyway – path through the aisles, bypassing the charcoals and the many gradients of lead. She stops in front of the tubes of acrylic paint and fills her basket with just about every shade on the color wheel. She finds herself gravitating towards the brightest and most vibrant colors laid out before her.

She's ready to embrace the color again, in art and life. It fills her with an unrivalled joy.

Jim spends Saturday morning the week after they officially start dating – which for the record he insists counts as the hospital, but Pam has decided should count at the rooftop, given that whole memory loss thing and the uncertainty that followed – downtown in the small row of shopfronts. He glances down at the map he printed out earlier that morning and continues pacing down the street. After another thirty paces he pauses and pushes into the store now before him.

Satin lined jewellery boxes fill the display cabinets. He browses slowly, eyes painstakingly searching each row. On the third cabinet, he grounds to a halt. The store assistant rushes to his side as he taps his long finger over a brilliant diamond solitaire that he just knows is the _one_. He swallows down a mess of emotions as the teller rings up his purchase.

He's ready to embrace the future that he's long dreamed off, that seemed impossible. It fills him with an unmatched contentedness.


End file.
